I worked behind the bars at the famous Lakeside Golf Club from 1999-2002. Nestled away and off the beaten path, it sits over the city borderlines of the Burbank/Toluca Lake area of the San Fernando Valley, yet literally just a golf swing from the Warner Brothers and Burbank Studios across Olive Avenue, with NBC and Walt Disney Studios nearby, and the Smokehouse restaurant just up the street from the gated security entrance to the club property.
Lakeside is a private golf club, not open to the general public and surrounding community, like a country club would be. It has an amazing history, and the hundreds of members pay a hefty price for a membership and exclusivity, even though a couple years before I started working there they were offered $1 Billion for it by a private Japanese business group. It was turned down.
From high up in the back lot of Universal Studios, looking down and Eastward, it basically overlooks the club course and property. Lakeside may have never happened if it wasn’t for the fact that in the 1920’s, the Wilshire Golf Club wouldn’t allow celebrities, entertainers and professional athletes to become members.
In 1924, a group of a dozen Hollywood businessmen met in a boardroom at the Hollywood Athletic Club on Sunset Boulevard and worked out a deal for the piece of property in the valley’s Westside that was a huge expanse of orchards at the time. Lakeside was officially formed on May 12 of that same year. With Scotsman Max Behr being selected as the course designer, Lakeside officially opened on November 14, 1925.
During my second year there, the club celebrated it’s 75th anniversary with a book of its history. The production of the book itself was limited to be distributed to its membership only. I never got my hands on one except for a minute when I was allowed to glance through it on the desk of the General Manager’s office. However, I did get a typed 3-page copy of the foreword that was written by Bob Hope, and still have it today. The tail end is in his own handwriting, and says “Lakeside, thanks for the memories.”
They also produced a 50-year anniversary book in 1975, written by Norm Blackburn, with only 1,150 copies made as another in-house limited edition. Out of curiosity, I just went to the online site AbeBooks.com, and there is one copy of each available. The 50-year at $500, and the 75-year at $460.
Loaded with a history of famous members and professional people of power, past and present, it’s a place where these alpha males can kick back, relax like a home away from home, and have fun with their pals. A mixture of individuals who’ve earned it, who deserve it, who married into it, and those who just got plain lucky!
On the walls of the main bar and clubhouse hang head shots by the hundreds, original frames that have been there for decades. It was always a treat for me to figure out who this and that person was, as I’m pretty good at knowing so many, but I admit Lakeside stumped the hell out of me for a while, yet it was easy enough just to ask an older member of the club, as they know everyone.
Actors, writers, producers, directors, agents, managers, lawyers, doctors, dentists, the chairman of Arco Petroleum, and a host of others were members. Whoever could afford it, but you had to be invited in from another current member and a vote was taken. Even the 94-year old grand-daughter of the man who founded the Mormon church in Utah was one of the oldest members. How’s that for interesting fellowship in a soup of high society?
During late afternoons, she would be sitting quietly at a table out in the terrace lounge by herself with some ice tea or lemonade in front of her, gazing out at the day. In the distance and direction of her vision is the actual Lake Toluca, which could only be seen from inside the club property. A home across the lake is where W.C. Fields once lived. It was said that in the early morning hours you could watch him from the club as he chased ducks off his lawn back into the water.
There was a fine piano in the corner of the lounge, and occasionally I would hit a break time where I’d be able to go over, sit down and play five or ten minutes for her, some slow improv melody fitting the sound and memories of days gone by. She was always so appreciative of it, though she didn’t need to thank me, as it was a pleasure to be a small part of her golden years.
Emilia Earhart actually lived here, having owned a home right off one of the greens on the North side of the course and property. I have a Hoover Dam of small tales to tell about my few years at Lakeside, and will do so over time, but to avoid any more overflow for now, let me get to the second part of this story.
Each year the club hosts the annual Jim Murray Sportswriters Golf Tournament. I was scheduled in for my usual early-afternoon to closing shift, but due to the tournament volume and activity, I came in at 1:00 pm instead of the normal 2:00 pm. Here I am, hired on as the only long-haired (at the time) black sheep of the staff family, apropos of their nature to bring someone in from the cold, a dark horse with a foot and a half-long mane, but kept tied back and clean, staying at my best behavior for some acceptance to prove myself worthy, not wanting the members to perceive my capabilities in the wrong way. I was able to win them over with my professionalism, experience and knowledge behind the bar.
Starting in the morning and ending in the late afternoon, there were players who had well-finished the course when I arrived in the bar for my shift, hanging out in the clubhouse and men's bar. Kenny, the bar manager, was in back choosing wines from the cellar for some of the members dinners. Bruce was out on the course with the liquor/bar cart, and Reyes went on a long break as I took over the bar. It’s a 25-30 foot bar with a service bar hatch connected to the dining area in the next room over, so I’m keeping a peripheral eye on the waiters and managers to the right.
I made a few drinks for some members and guests who popped in the bar after showering in the locker room, as well as others who were in and out from the course. I always know when actor Jack Nicholson is on the greens as his playing partner/friend comes into the bar and orders a couple cold Dr. Pepper cans with large roadie cups filled with ice. Jack’s a Pepper! He even put a private review of the club and course up online some years back. It says “One of the best in Los Angeles. Great traditional course. Small, quick greens. Great place to see celebs.”
So I’m there behind the bar for less than a half an hour, and as I walk down to the far left side of the bar to put some of the cigar boxes back that were left out. I turn back around facing the front of the bar and where the big screens are, I slow down to a stop, doing a visual pan of the entire room and through the far windows of the adjacent room where members were playing poker. Looking back to the left and to a round table in the deep middle of the main room, I look at the side of a this person’s face sitting there alone, re-adjusted my eyes and did a double-take, as it was a bit dim lit, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t Joe Namath.
He seemed to be waiting for somebody, but after a couple minutes he looked back over to the bar and noticed I was there doing whatever, maybe looking at the sports page for a quick minute or so while keeping my eye out. He got up and walked right over to me and introduced himself. I did the same, we shook hands, and he ordered an Absolut on-the-rocks with no fruit. Catching my breath while preparing his drink without dropping the glass, I brought it over to him, serving it up over a Lakeside cocktail napkin, and we ended up having about a 15-20 minute conversation nearly uninterrupted.
Awesome! I’m chatting with an NFL legend. We talked a little about the club’s history, how his golf game went, and I let him know that not only did I grow up watching the Jets with my dad as our favorite team, but in high school I had read his 1970 book in the library, titled “I Can’t Wait Until Tomorrow ‘cause I get better looking every day”. Back then, he was drinking Johnnie Walker Red. We talked about his Super Bowl III game against the Baltimore Colts in 1969, and also mentioned to him that I was named after Kyle Rote, who was in the broadcast booth with Curt Gowdy.
He loved it! What a great guy to hang out and speak with. He was so open and laid back, in no hurry. We laughed with each other, and I got to see a close-up of that great Broadway Joe smile. Towards the end, he had finished his drink right at about the time that his golfing partner on the day had come into the bar. We shook hands and thanked each other for the chat, and they took off. The next day I called my dad to let him know that I got to meet and talk with Joe, and he couldn’t believe it. He was so happy to hear it.
The day was filled with sports people walking around the property, not too many came into the bar area though, but one member that I spoke with on occasion who is an executive at Warner Brothers told me that one of his golfing partners was MLB pitcher, Randy Johnson. Later in the day, USC college baseball coaching legend Rod Dedeaux came in and up to the bar, who was a member along with his son, Justin. I walk over to greet him and he says “Hey Tiger”, and asked me to get him a juice or a club soda, I can’t remember exactly now. He used a cane to walk, but it was made out of a baseball bat which is autographed by many of his college players that made it to the big leagues. Bruce had told me about it before, and I finally got the chance to see it up close, as Rod placed it on top of the bar for a close-up.
He got a kick out of the fact when I told him I used to go to all the San Diego Padres pre-season exhibition games with my dad when they were held in Yuma, Arizona, which is where I grew up from the ages of 7-19, including seeing Dave Kingman in his rookie year with the Giants, among so many other greats of the time. Much later I found out that he had actually played a couple games with the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1935, before his back gave out and couldn’t continue in the Majors. Rod passed away in 2006 at the age of 91.
By the end of the night and my shift, I closed up the bar, walked out to my truck, grabbed my putter and a few balls, and went back to the front of the clubhouse where the putting green was, and hit a bunch around while the lights were still on. What a day! It pretty much made my month, if not my year . . .
